Lost
by Lady Kickass
Summary: Ken's in Germany, heartbroken, cold and alone. What's a bishi soccer boy to do? yaoi. 5th chapter up!
1. Chapter 1

11: 56 p.m., Munich  
  
God it was cold.  
  
The little brunette shivered against the smooth white tiled wall of the subway station. The harsh artificial lighting of the transit station made the hour unrealistic. How long had it been since he'd gotten some decent sleep? Ken couldn't remember. He had made a point to keep his eyes open on the last ride he'd been on; the questionable men lounging near him had made him uneasy. He squinted up at the sterile white lights flooding the stop. So bright, and yet so wrong. The inky blackness outside kept at bay, pushed away by this false light. Like a bright smile masking a shadowed heart. Unexpected pain lanced through his chest at this sudden analogy. He shook his head. No, not again.  
  
He absently rubbed bare tanned hands over bare tanned arms. Lingering at the mouth of the lighted station he could see the stars. The night was so big, and he was sheltered here under this overhang of bright light and smooth white tile. The night was so big.  
  
He shoved himself away from the tile and the light and the lies. This outside world was foreign and vast, he no idea of where to go. But this darkness was real, if alien. He could not say as much for the station and the ghost of his former lover's smile that haunted him there.  
  
He took the stairs two at a time, his hands buried deep in his pockets, eyes fixed straight ahead. On level with the dark streets of urban Germany, a wave of emotion rolled through him so strongly he faltered, steadying himself on the rail and touching a hand to his chest. The words came unbidden to his mind:  
  
**Be brave love**  
  
He breathed out, tears of agony burning at the corners of his eyes. No more. He walked out into the enclosing night.  
  
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**is italicized**. In this case, it represents the memory of words said by his former lover. Who is it? Why is Ken so sad?? Guess! ^_^  
  
This is a teaser I know, but I hope to add more. I just liked the setting, so any suggestions for plot now or later on are welcome. Going to be Schu X Ken eventually. Please let me know what you think! Thanks! ~~~Lady Kickass 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Thanks to my lovely reviewers meron pan daisuki, Vault 713, Kei, just a reader, Mistress of Darkness, Misura, schu-chan, and Kaelina. You guys inspired me to keep going on this.

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1:24 a.m., Marienplatz, Munich

__

"Tell me this isn't the way its going to be, Ken."

Two long limbs box in the younger man, palms pressed flat to the closed door. Yohji looms above him, his slender form menacing. Ken's throat clenches painfully; he fights the feeling and responds with as much force as he can muster.

"No."

Yohji's face changes, but Ken continues before he can speak.

"No, because its not going any further. I'm finished with this Yohji. I'm sorry."

Yohji's face changes again, this time from utter surprise to a mask of rage. He pushes himself away from his brunette lover.

"Sorry?" he repeats. Then again, softer, "Sorry?!" Ken stands his ground, positioned as he is against a closed closet door. Only a flicker in his eyes betrays his fear.

Yohji raises his hand as if to strike Ken, and Ken doesn't bat an eye. After a long, angry, tension-filled moment, Yohji backs down. Making an inarticulate noise of disgust, he grabs his coat off the back of the chair and exits without looking back. Ken waits until he hears the apartment door slam before releasing his suppressed emotions. Sobbing, he curls up on the unforgiving floor.

Ken shrugs off the memory, the shrug turning into a shiver as an icy breeze finds it way down his shirt collar. He looks up from his daze to see where he is. No subway in sight, nor busy highways. Cobblestone streets and red brick walls. He runs his hands over the rough stones as he weaves his way along the street.

He passes under a bridge. Homeless souls hold out their cups like grave toll men. He hiccups as he laughs.

Just like me, he thinks. No home and no friends. Dark memories struggle to surface; he trots faster along the cold road to keep them at bay.

He passes a last arch and is in a courtyard. He can see the stairs descending to public transit from here. Dark stairs leading to false light and false securities. He takes the courtyard on the perimeter, skirting the subway entrance. More cobblestones and shadows, flickering lights high up in windows, too high for him to reach. The moon above is stingy with her light, the multitude of stars like ants across the deep night sky. Ken keeps his pace along the cobblestone path, fingertips grazing the rough red brick.

He stumbles and puts a shaky hand back on the wall as he braces himself to stand again. Its harder than it should be; Ken shakes his head to clear it of dizziness. He might have to set up a tollbooth himself soon. Food, like sleep, had been a long time in coming.

__

A long while ago it wasn't dark. The gray and cloudy day had still cast light, real light, onto the streets and onto his own weathered head. He remembered seeing postcards, and red geranium flowers from window boxes. Then when it had gotten colder and darker, and shops had closed and the crimson petals had faded with the light, he had found his way beneath the city . . . 

Gentle music on the cool breeze, drifting nearer, nearer . . . No, he was drifting nearer----there. The open archway. The lighted place under the stone pillars. Humble, flickering lantern light. Light without the insolent audacity to imitate the real thing, unlike that in the subway. He feels pulled toward the soft glow, the music. 

He comes upon the accordion player, and, suddenly shy, stays outside the small, dimly lit alcove. The player barely acknowledges his presence, seemingly drawn into his own melody. Ken follows the music, his heart almost at peace in a numb, lulled sort of way. Inside this tiny circle, he is free of the world. Music and musician become one in Ken's haggard mind.

His eyes scan the sweeping pillars and sturdy foundation, the open courtyard and twinkling lights in deep-set windows high above. His heart pangs at the distant glows. Always out of reach.

For some reason the music becomes painful to him, and he turns away to face the night. Hand on the harsh stone walls again, he shuffles down the cobblestone path.

2:11 a.m., Marienplatz

Hurts. Everything hurts. Ken strains to keep his eyes open while forcing himself to take a much-needed breath. The quiet agony in his side flares up in protest. He expels the air, wondering how long it will be before he absolutely needs oxygen again.

Dampness touches the corner of his eye. He is past tears by now; it is the blood from a recent head injury. One small misstep and he was tumbling off the ledge onto dark asphalt. A rigid metal corner had found his temple, and his side had been smashed on the curb concrete ledge. At this ungodly hour, no one had heard his anguished cries for help. He had silenced them himself once the pain had died down enough for him to regain his wits. It was not the wisest idea to draw attention to himself this late at night. He would have to wait it out until morning, but he'd be damned if he'd do it in a gutter!

Ken steels himself to sit up, and even then it is beyond his control to hold in the yelp of pain at moving. Gritting his teeth, he levers himself to kneel, slowly but surely rises to his feet. Grimly, he sets about relocating his battered, bruised, burnt out body. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ken knows this doesn't matter, doesn't even make sense. But then, nothing has made sense to him for a long time. He trudges on.

Familiar towers appear before Ken's wavering gaze. His sanctuary. He zigzags across the courtyard, toward the lanterns and non-existent music. The accordion player is long gone, the alcove empty. Ken feels as if he has lost a friend. He sways for a moment before the great building, one man against the pillars of ages. He steps forward, touches the cold wall, drops down to its base, his legs folding under him like a child. He presses his cheek against the rough stone, reawakened tears slipping down to dampen the dust. At long last, his heart gives out and he falls mercifully unconscious.

~~@~@~@~@~@~@~~~

"Was ist das?"* a voice murmurs above him. Cool fingers tilt his chin up, and he groans. The hair on his temple is feathered up, a hiss of sympathy emits from the tall bending form. He stirs, and shivers, the night having grown colder, and he having been pulled out of his warmth-retaining curl. Touches at his shoulder, his waist. He moans as the fingers graze his ribs. He struggles against the intrusion, grumbling nonsensical phrases like a drunkard. Soft laughter floats down to him.

"Can you get up?" He realizes after a moment that he can decipher the words, and that they are being directed towards him. He struggles to make his heavy tongue obey and reply . . . . No go.

In an instant he is lifted and positioned vertically. His knees don't even give the pretense of holding out long enough for him to stand alone. Arms go around his torso to catch him as he pitches forward, his hoarse yell is muffled on someone's shoulder. His body decides enough is enough and goes limp in the other's hold. He doesn't feel the stranger's coat wrap around his trembling form, or hear the man's quiet laughter once again.

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* Eng. Trans.: "What is this?" == I don't know German, please let me know if I make any mistakes! ^^;;

  


Oh dear! Poor little KenKen is so tired and distraught he falls down and bumps his head on the gutter. ::chortles:: Talk about hitting rock bottom. ::sigh:: But who is this mysterious stranger? And what could his *intentions* be?? Review button says, "Click me and you will receive the answer!"

~~~Lady Kickass ^_^*


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Thanks to my lovely reviewers dawn, NagiNaoeSchwarzsProdigy, Misura, Jo, Wing Zero, Kura, krimson, Kaeera, Venus, D.D. 04, and Kaelina. Once again you guys inspired me to keep going on this. I really appreciate all the people who took time to help me get my German phrasing down correctly. Thanks for the help! Also much thanks to everyone who graciously took the time to review this story, it means a lot to me!

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10:26 a.m. A small brunch café mid city.

The man with the flame colored hair pushes away his plate, his fingers tapping the tabletop with unconscious impatience. He wants a cigarette now that he's downed his coffee. His jade eyes light on the dark man across the table, and he leans back against the vinyl-cushioned booth, draping his arm over the back.

"So what's my fortune today, O mystical oracle?" The comment is loud, sneering, obnoxious. Like the speaker. Or at least how many view him to be. "What have the stars predicted for me?"

"You will meet your future."

Long, abrasive laughter. The dark-haired man pushes his wire rimmed glasses down to pinch the bridge of his nose and relieve some of the stress-induced sinus pressure. Or perhaps it is merely a protective habit formed from having his advice laughed at most of the time. He sighs and revises his statement.

"If you're going to be out late again, walk home. Don't get too drunk." He snaps the last warning as an afterthought, injecting it with the irritation he's been feeling all day.

"Yes Mother, I won't drink and drive. I'll even take a taxi cab!" More laughter. The bells tied to the door handle jingle as he exits the warm café, chorusing his parting jab.

The man inside looks quietly into the depths of his coffee mug. "Yes, I know you will," he murmurs sadly, all signs of annoyance gone. "I know you will."

2:38 a.m. Marienplatz, Munich

"Heh." The sound issues from the tall man's lips, tingeing white on cold night air, short, smug with and undertone of disgust. After the tourist-attracting Hofbrauhaus closed at midnight, he made his way to the local's bar. After, of course, making sure the foreign businessmen he'd been tracking all night stumbled their own drunken ways into taxicabs. They would undoubtedly go to their hotel rooms to sleep off the night of merrymaking. Even without his talent he would have gleaned this, as the most vocal of the group had shouted his plans for the immediate future so loudly that any number of passerbys on the street could have figured out as much.

He smirks, his mouth brushing the upraised collar of his thick black coat. His concern with that particular group of Japanese businessmen was now completely dispelled. They would be of no threat to him. Using both the skills he was born with, and the ones he worked hard to learn, he had become an invisible presence in the crowd—quite an impressive feat when one had hair so brilliantly colored as his. He had only been eavesdropping a few hours before he knew whatever threats these people made in the future would be a joke. It had been boring to stay and watch the already tipsy businessmen get downright smashed, when he knew they weren't going to discuss anything useful anymore. But he didn't build his credibility by leaving a site when the targets were still active. You never knew what people might say when they're drunk, or who will come and get them to put them to bed.

No one showed up, of course, and he didn't expect them to. However he stayed in the shadows outside the beer hall until he saw the taxicabs drive off in the direction of the hotel. He waited a good fifteen minutes before making his way to his favorite bar.

Now walking home, warm inside with the alcohol and genuinely enjoying the night, he looks up to see the sky as a dark blue canvas, a heavenly being having flicked a brush of silver paint to make the stars. He sighs and the breath escapes as curling smoke, this time not from cigarettes. His expensive leather boots clip against the cobblestones, he keeps his gloved hands deep in his pockets for warmth. He left the bar earlier than he usually does, perhaps because he doesn't need alcohol tonight to raise his spirits. Despite being bored for half the time, it really was reliving to be able to cross off the businessmen as possible problems. For all the headaches that have been coming his way recently, this good news is going a long way to make up for them.

He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts he almost misses the small presence. He lifts his head to seek the source, finding himself in the courtyard of the clock tower. Against the side of the building is a dark smudge, unmoving. He must have picked up on it because his mind has been geared to Japanese all evening.

He walks forward, interested. The smudge becomes a shape, a form from which a jumble of incoherent thought fragments and emotions are emanating softly. He reaches down to touch the dark head, expressing his wonderment aloud. Upon further inspection he discovers it is a boy, injured, and somewhat delirious. The kid's jumbled thoughts become vocal now, and the tall man chuckles in amusement. He is close enough to smell the boy's breath, so he knows the slurring of his words is not from overindulgence of alcohol.

After seeing the boy won't respond to his native Japanese, the man hauls him up off the street. He catches him before he hits the ground in a swoon, feeling his mind flutter into unconsciousness. Its obvious this one won't be able to walk for a while. It goes again his grain to just leave the kid here for whatever or whoever comes along. The boy sure didn't put up much of a fight when he himself came along.

But its late, and he doesn't want to go through the hassle of booking a room——

A ghost whisper of a murmur echoes in his mind, pitifully faint and weak. The man sighs. Guess its home then. He shifts the kid in his arms, cursing when he realizes just how cold he is to the touch. Even with the added bulk of the man's coat, the dark-haired boy is easy to carry. The man walks away from the circle of light in the abandoned alcove, the silent boy cradled protectively in his arms.

~~@~@~@~@~@~@~~~

__

It's a soft clean morning light that filters through the window of their upstairs apartment. Late enough in the day for the light to have just enough substance to warm his exposed skin. His sleepy gaze wanders over the rumpled covers and his lover's relaxed form, the sunlight catching the fuzz on his long limbs and chest in a golden glow. Ken smiles adoringly upon his angel's face, reaching up to smooth a lock of honey blonde hair. The angel's eyelashes flutter and he blinks them open with a yawn, tightening his hold on the younger man tucked against his side. Ken watches in wonder as the emerald eyes focus on him, his lover's smile like the sunshine, warming him from the inside. The golden man pulls him in for a good morning kiss, the greeting unspoken but exchanged all the same. Ken settles into his lover's body, leaning against him contently, the older man running his fingers through Ken's chocolate hair.

"I love you, Yohji," he whispers. An arm snakes around behind him, jerking upwards unexpectedly and landing the little brunette on top of his lover's chest so fast he gasps. Yohji chuckles, leaning in to steal another kiss.

"I know," he murmurs. "I love you too." He ducks his head to swiftly place a kiss on the underside of Ken's jaw. With a quickening pace he nips and nibbles up the side of Ken's cheek, to his ear. Ken giggles and shies away as his lover breathes warm moist air into the recesses of his ear. Yohji holds fast however, and noses persistently at the side of Ken's face. Ken yelps as his lover nips a little too hard. He squirms but the pain only increases, the other's grip like iron.

"Ouch, Yohji, let go! That hurts! Yohji! Yohji!"

"Yohji!"

Ken cries out sharply as he sits bolt upright. His pain dazed eyes become bewildered as he finds himself not in a comfortable warm bed on a lazy Sunday morning, but in a much smaller, darker area. Uncertainty and fear prickle in the back of his mind. Where am I? he wonders. What—what—?

He freezes as a voice purrs from behind him, velvet smooth and very close:

"Don't worry Kätzchen, I won't hurt you."

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Now what has Ken gotten himself into? What's with Crawford's fortune cookie prediction? And what exactly is Schuldich's line of work? I'd love to hear what you think. Comments and suggestions are always welcome via email or reviews. Hope to hear from you!

~~Lady Kickass ^_^*


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Special thanks to my reviewers: Kaelina, Mistress of Darkness1, Brizey, Jenken, Astralkitten, Briar Rose6, gyuumajo, kasugai gummie, Misura, schu-chan, Anime the Fallen Angel, Zeto, and KyraEnsui. Your commentary was great! Thanks so much for dropping a note to say you were here! It really encouraged me to update!

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Ken gasps as the sharp pain lances through his temple again. He snaps his eyes open as he bolts upright. The pain at his temple is real enough, but the rest of the dream is not. He is not in bed, this is not Yohji's body he is sprawled over. This is….Who is…._who_---?

"Don't worry Kätzchen, I won't hurt you."

Ken's initial reaction the low, faintly accented words directed towards him is an absolute stillness. A split second later, he torques his body in the narrow confines of the darkness in a desperate attempt to view the speaker. He panics as he finds he can't twist far enough to face the man, bound in straps and cloth that tighten as he struggles. His head throbs as adrenaline rushes his system, the new, rapid, heavy heartbeats provoking the gash on his temple. He gasps raggedly, ripped from a golden dream to a foreign, frightening reality. He fights it tooth and claw.

An arm comes around his middle, pulling him up short against a chest in a no-nonsense manner. "That's enough," the man says firmly, his iron grip booking no room for so much as a deep breath, much less an argument. Ken's ribs protest loudly to the strong hold, and he dares not aggravate the injury by struggling. Reluctantly, painfully, he stops trying to free himself and waits, mouth gone dry and heart fluttering.

A soft chuckle. Ken's brow creases in confusion. Laughing? Why is the sound so familiar? There is the ghost of a memory in the back of his mind….but like the dream its fading away. Ken feels his chest tense as he tries to sort out the jumble of thought and memories that assail him. The pounding in his head makes logical thought difficult; he grits his teeth in frustration.

"Calm yourself Kätzchen," the voice murmurs soothingly. "Relax. You're all right." The grip around his middle loosens, and Ken takes a deeper breath, wincing as his ribs make a sharper pain.

"Where . . am I?" he manages.

"In a taxi cab."

"Why am I tied?"

"You're not. You've gotten yourself wrapped up in the safety belts with your thrashing. My coat as well."

"Oh," he rasps weakly. True enough, he could feel the thick wool fabric of the coat brushing his leg from where he'd thrown it to the floor, as well as the heat that was quickly dissipating due to its absence. Carefully he shifts and untangles himself so he can peer into the dark. "Then…who are you?"

The man pauses for a moment. Then finally, "Your host, it seems."

Ken can feel the heat from the man sitting behind him; he realizes he is still half on his lap. Was he sleeping that way?

"Wha—what?" Ken rubs the heels of his hands into his bleary eyes. The man gives a long-suffering sigh with a hint of annoyance. He runs his fingers through his hair and leans back on the seat, stretching out and tipping his head back as he addresses the ceiling of the car.

"Did you plan to spend the night on the street? Or was that just a temporary sidetrack?"

"I—I don't know," Ken whispers miserably. _I have no where to go_, he thinks sadly.

The man snorts. "Good enough I suppose," he says, shutting his eyes with both arms extended out on the backrest. Ken looks out onto the passing city lights, unable to guess at the time or what direction they are traveling. Everything is so dark and unfamiliar…

"What is your name, boy?"

"Ken." _I'm not a boy._ Yohji always used to tease him about that, because of the differences in their ages. He hated that, but the joking twinkle in the man's eyes always made up for it. Ken could never hold a grudge against such a shining light.

"How old are you Ken?"

The young man bristles. "Old enough," he spits with a little more fire than his earlier statements. Even though he's scared, and lost, and cold, he still has his temper. He doesn't like the way the man is looking at him, as though he's being weighed out.

"Good. We'll have no problems then."

"What do you mean?" Ken asks, narrowing his eyes, trying to figure this man out. The man doesn't bother to reply, just sits there quietly, reclining on the leather seat cushions with his eyes closed. "Problems with what?" He is ignored. "Don't you even care why I'm here?" he asks shrilly.

"No."

A sudden, intense desolation sweeps through Ken, making his heart ache terribly. His jaw works as if to say something, but no noise comes out. His eyes close involuntarily, as hot tears seep from beneath his eyelids and cling to his lashes. His head and side throb badly.

"Why are you doing this?" Ken whispers. A long arm snakes around him and gently pulls him to the man's side. The coat is draped over his shoulders again and Ken leans helplessly against the warm chest, all strength sapped from him.

"Stop shaking," the man orders softly. "Just go back to sleep. You don't need to do much more than sleep just now. You're at the edge of consciousness as it is."

And then Ken is over the edge and mercifully numb.

~~@~@~@~@~@~@~~~

When Ken wakes, it is raining. Beads of water cling to the windows, refracting the light from the outdoor lanterns. The light shines unevenly on the wet flagstones leading up to the house. The man from before is nowhere to be seen. Someone else takes Ken's elbow and hauls him out of the car.

Ken's knees wobble as he is placed on his feet. The raindrops and lantern lights spin for a moment as he reorients himself. Seeing as Ken is still unsteady, the man wastes no time in slinging one of Ken's arms across his shoulders and half leading, half carrying the young brunette up the flagstone path. Ken's vision is obscured by his position and his weakened condition, he can only see snatches of the new grounds as he is hustled through the halls. Instead of going up to the front of the building, his guide takes him along covered wooden walkways and side paths. Ken gets glimpses of expensive furniture and glass windows, lush carpeting and lighted halls. He passes through what seems to be a garden of some sort, glimpsing a stone lantern half hidden in a stand of bamboo. And was that a koi pond?

The man leading him opens a door out of nowhere and steers him inside. Ken winces at the sudden change in light; the brightness makes his head wound throb harder. The attendant clucks his tongue at the sight of fresh blood and the water pooling on the floor from their soggy entrance. He takes the half-blind Ken and sits him on the hard edge of a wooden chair, peeling off the boy's soaked T-shirt and throwing him a towel for his hair. Ken's sodden jeans are next, but the young man is beyond the point of embarrassment, shaken with cold and exhaustion. He takes the second towel wordlessly and wraps it around his slender waist. Faintly his mind registers that he is in a room with a fireplace, a fireplace with an actual fire and warmth emanating from it. A worn wooden table is in front of him. He towels his hair half-heartedly, after a few moments just giving up and letting the damp cloth hang over his head and bare brown shoulders. One elbow comes to rest on the table, cradling the uninjured side of his head. Tiny tremors run down his spine and his other hand grips the edge of the chair in white knuckled fist. He hears the guide murmur something about food and bandages, and he drifts in and out of a hazy conscious state.

Fragrant steam rouses him, along with the towel being plucked from his head. Ken is face to face with the loveliest bowl of soup he has ever seen. He all but inhales it.

Around him he can hear the bustle and murmur of people, but his main focus at this point is the filling warmth of the soup. Liquid strength pours into his system; food has NEVER been this good before. He ignores the hands that tilt his head to get a better view of the injury. He only has a few more spoonfuls of broth left when they begin to clean out the gash.

Ken yelps and jumps, jerking away from the touch. He turns to glare daggers at the servant, but is shocked to find his gazed instead locked with an unsmiling pair of jade eyes. The man's hair is like fire, spilling over his shoulders in a smoldering cascade. The handsome face levels a stern expression at him. "Don't move," he orders. Ken recognizes the voice immediately.

"Y—You!" he sputters. "What are you—ahh!"

"I said hold still." The man continues to dab at the cut with a damp cloth, holding Ken's jaw firmly in one hand to keep him from squirming out of reach. Ken writhes but is too weak to break away.

After an eternity it is done, and the man applies healing ointment and wraps a gauzy bandage around Ken's head. He pulls Ken's chair—with Ken still in it—out a bit from the table and prods the young man's sore side. Ken yelps but once again is subdued. Ken gives up and leans his aching head back against the back of the chair, asking in a despairing, choked voice that he wished could have been stronger, "Who _are_ you??"

"You may call me Schuldich," comes the brisk reply. What was that? He actually GOT an answer?

"You're ribs are bruised, but not broken, as far as I can tell. You are young and should heal quickly. Some lotion and bandaging may relieve some of the pain," Schuldich muses. "Some aspirin too," he adds. The redhead bends and peers eye level at the quickly fading Ken. "We've got to get you to a room," he murmurs, "or you'll be asleep on the kitchen table." That familiar smirk tinges his voice.

Ken forces his heavy lids open. Damn that man! There are questions he wants answered, dammit!

"Why are you helping me?" he asks bluntly, sitting up straight despite the multiple protests of his body, and leveling a serious gaze on the other man.

"Because I want you to work for me."

__

Hunh? "Doing what?" Ken asks suspiciously.

"You'll find out soon enough."

"And if I don't wanna work for you?"

Schuldich looks at his squarely. "Do you honestly have a better option? You don't know anyone here, you don't have any money, you don't speak German, you don't have adequate clothing, you're injured…. The list goes on."

Ken opens his mouth to protest; how the hell did this arrogant sonovabitch know _anything_ about him?

"Don't make me call your bluff, Ken. You don't have to swallow your pride and admit to me that you don't have any other choices. Just think about it."

Schuldich gets up to get something as Ken glares daggers at his back and thinks. Everything the redhead said is true. But the reason he had come… Ken pushes that thought away; he's in enough physical pain as it is. It doesn't matter. He is in poor shape and he needs help. He hates to admit it but he does. But he'd be damned if he didn't try to leverage something out of this….whatever it was.

Schuldich leans his hip against the table, holding a hand out in front of the frowning Ken. Two strong aspirin wink at him enticingly from the man's upturned palm, a glass of water in the other hand. Ken tears his gaze from the pills and mouths off the opposite of what he has just decided to do.

"I can take care of myself."

"Oh I'm quite sure of that," Schuldich agrees smoothly. "But if you don't _need_ my help…." The hand with the painkillers closes. Ken tries not to wince. Again he tries to think of a way out of this….but his tired brain just can't think of any viable alternatives. He's stuck.

"No lies," he states flatly.

"You got it."

"I can leave whenever I want."

"You have to work three months, minimum." At Ken's glare, he adds, "Hey, I need to have _some_ insurance." Ken doesn't bother to ask what for. He has a feeling it won't be the kind of answer he wants to hear. It's getting too hard to think…

"What do I have to do?" he asks lowly.

"Do I take it you have accepted my offer?"

Ken scowls. "I don't have much of a choice, now do I?" 

Schuldich smiles. "I'm glad you see things my way. Here." He holds out the pills again. Ken reaches for them, then pulls back, eyeing the redhead distrustfully.

"It's not poison, little fool. If I wanted you dead I would have left you on the sidewalk." Ken glares at him and takes the pills, gulping them down with the glass of water.

"Just what exactly do you do? Just what do _I_ have to do?" he demands.

"We'll talk about that later." Schuldich's image wavers slightly.

"No. I want to know what I'm getting into." _Before it's too late_, he adds silently. Ken blinks his eyes again, but his vision still doesn't clear.

"Its already too late, Ken," he hears Schuldich say softly. Drowsiness comes on fast and hard. Ken yawns hugely. "You're such a fighter," he hears Schuldich continue as if from a distance, yet a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "You're only going to make things worse if you struggle. It wouldn't have had to come to this if you would just relax and cooperate in the first place."

"H-Hey!" he shouted. "You—lied! You drugged this! You said— you…. said—…."

Schuldich catches him for the second time that night as Ken drops forward, eyelids flickering shut.

"You never asked about the water," Ken hears the older man say before blacking out completely.

~~@~@~@~@~@~@~~~

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Yikes! Is KenKen in over his head? Why did he come to Germany in the first place? What makes him so valuable to Schuldich? And what IS that sexeh redhead's line of work? Always *love* to hear the commentary and ideas. Drop me a line, ok? Thank you!

~~Lady Kickass ^_^*


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Much gratitude extended to reviewers KyraEnsui, Liz Rose, katsugai gummie, Misura, aionwatha, x Faded Illusion x, kaelina, gyuumajo, Wildfire 2, Zeto, Celace, tyranimo, and rebelyell59. Thank you so much for commenting!

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"MMMNNnNnnnnnnnnn!…." The dark haired boy groans. His softly tousled head moves against the pillow as he stretches his neck, exposing the surprisingly graceful curve of his throat. The coverlet falls free of one young brown shoulder as he unconsciously allows the back of one hand to fly up and scrub his sleepy brow. Sated, he drowsily lets the hand fall back above his head. 

His brow wrinkles slightly at the feel of cool metal. He holds his breath as confusion seeps through his fog of slumber. His fingers,seeminglyindependent of his mind,are already feeling along the smooth expanse of cylindrical bar within arm's reach, trying to find out what it is. His sense of touch still can't place this metal bar, or its companions, in a familiar memory, and Ken is roused out of the last remnants of dreaming. His eyes blink open, baffled, to stare at an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, scrap of ceiling.

His eyes roll to his upraised limb that grasps what turns out to be the frame for the bed he lies on. His mind seems somewhat detached, but not worried. Interesting, he thinks.

He returns his gaze to his surroundings, not bothering to get out of bed. The morning air is decidedly cool, and he is decidedly warm and comfortable, as is. No need to go changing things.

The walls around him are red brick, the ceiling held up by sturdy wooden beams. It seems to be an apartment or loft of some sort. There is light spilling from the white painted window sill on his right side. He rolls to get out of bed. The pain lancing down his ribs stops him before he gets very far. Leaning down to inspect what's hurting him, he discovers his side is neatly bandaged with white gauze. And that he's down to his boxers.

With a hand to his side and a growing sense of nervous curiosity, he gingerly makes his way to the window. Urban German streets glow with the sheen of a recent morning rain. Across the street there is an apartment building, quite similar it seems to the one he's occupying. Sleek, fuel-efficient vehicles are parked neatly along the gray curb, and a florist is shooing a marmalade cat off her store's doormat while a guy in a dark coat flicks a cigarette butt into the gutter. It's a pretty normal cityscape. Except that, for the life of him, Ken can't figure out why he's here.

A light tapping and polite cough announce the presence of someone at the door. Opening it, an older woman with her iron colored hair done up tightly in a matronly knot hints at a brief smile before her face becomes more business-like.

"Master Schuldig will see you now," she murmurs, indicating that he should follow. He gulps. Her mouth straightens into a thin line as she takes in his state of undress. "Hmm." She says. She turns her back to look for something in a dresser near the door. The deal from the night before dawns on Ken with the mention of the redheaded German's name. He feels like his stomach has suddenly turned inside out. An unanticipated, irrationalsense of panic assails him. Before he knows what he's doing, Ken looks for avenues of escape. Could he hide in the closet? No way. Jump out the window? Fat chance, it's three stories up. Too late. The matron is back. She chucks clothes at him. "Get dressed," she says, tapping her foot and apparently supervising. Her level gray eyes book no room for argument, so he gulps again and meekly obeys. The clothes aren't his, but fit well enough, and Ken notices that they are of the city's latest fashion. Ken got a glimpse of the price tag for a similar shirt in a store window earlier that week. This Schuldig guy looks like he's got cash up the—

"Are you ready now? The master doesn't like to be kept waiting." Matron is getting a bit annoyed. Apparently she runs a tight ship. Or apartment building.

Ken's stomach has now skyrocketed to wedge itself in his throat. With every step down the stairs, his unease increases. He's not quite sure what he's feeling, but his indignation he remembers feeling from the night before—nights before?—has all but evaporated. He feels like it's the first day of school in a new town.

_Cigarette smoke twirls transparent ribbons around the slender fingers of the young man lounging face up on the back of bench near the science buildings, his arm extended above his head with supreme nonchalance. He takes a slow drag, holds it indefinitely, and breathes it out in a seductive stream that makes smoking look romantic. It is, too, until the cloud hits down-wind Ken and starts him coughing. And coughing. And coughing! His healthy lungs can't stand the poisonous fumes. Yohji sits up in one smooth, graceful motion, flicks the stick's ash with practiced efficiency, and starts to laugh. Quietly, then chuckles, then roars with laughter. His eyes close as he shakes with mirth and even the forgotten cigarette trembles in his hand. Ken recovers, and stares dumbfounded at this gorgeous being laughing in the middle of the quad. He knows, before Yohji even finishes wiping the tears from his eyes, that he wants to see this man laugh again. The lanky blonde cracks an emerald eye open. "Hey, athlete," he calls. "What's your name?"_

"Ken?" a voice inquires. Whoops. Ken snaps back to reality. Somehow he's made it to an office of some kind. It's Schuldig calling him, from behind a heavy hardwood desk. There are papers stacked in various piles, and sticky notes everywhere.

"Finished looking around?" The redhead smirks. "Get used to it. I'm sure I'll have you play secretary sometime or other. Thank you, Mrs. Holken." With a cure nod he dismisses the gray haired woman, and she closes the heavy oak door with an audible _thunk_.

"Who are you?" Ken manages a whisper only. It's hard to ask questions of this man, who backed by even the weak gray light of a cloudy morning exudes such an overwhelming aura of confidence, power, and shrewdness. His red hair glows like ember fire, and his green eyes are of an indescribable luminosity. It's enough to make the soccer player's head swim.

Ken's all but forgotten the question he's posed to the German, which works out well anyway since Schuldig decides ignore him. The taller man begins his own interrogation. "How did you get here Ken?" he asks directly. Ken finds himself curiously enthralled by those intelligent green eyes, and stumbling for a feasible answer.

"Uhhh," he mumbles, remembering the fragments of that raw-nerved weariness and the hellish walk back to …where? And why was he…? "Didn't you bring me here?" he asks, perplexed.

"No, Ken," the man sighs, as if repeating a question to a child. "How did you get _here_, to Germany?"

"Uh… uh… a plane." Ken says weakly. Schuldig's non-negotiable stare compels him to complete his answer. "I was looking for someone."

"Who were you looking for?"

"Just someone, all right?" Ken's voice is strained noticeably higher. "I didn't find them, and I got lost."

"You got lost?"

"Yeah. I got lost on the subways. Then I fell because I was tired and I hit my head and I woke up here. That's it."

"Hmmn," Schuldig murmurs. Ken mildly starts to panic. Having done most of the talking, and still knowing nearly nothing about the other man, he feels vulnerable. He tries to turn his nervousness into an intimidating show of anger, just so he can be on level footing—

"Don't bother," Schuldig says, "to pretend that you're angry. You clearly feel helpless, naïve, and lonely. You are also very much afraid of me." His eyes flick to Ken's open-mouthed astonishment. "Do you disagree?" Ken finds himself speechless. "I thought not. Now, you asked for a policy of 'no lies' from me, which I'll honor. In return, I expect absolute honesty from you. _In all matters_. Is that understood?" Ken just blinks.

Schuldig steps up quickly to Ken and grips him none too gently by the shoulders. "I asked you a question, Ken." Somehow, he's crossed the line. Ken's temper flares up.

"Hey, screw you! I'm not a little kid that you can order around. Get your hands offa me!" Schu's grip tightens. "I said leave me alone! I'm **not** scared of you!" Ken tries to wriggle out of the taller man's hold.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Schuldig clucks his tongue as he holds onto the squirming brunette. "Stubborn little kitten, aren't you. Lemme show you who's boss." He raps Ken sharply on the ribs with his knuckles. Immediately, Ken hunches over and bites his lip to keep from crying out. A soft whimper escapes. Schuldig still holds him securely.

"Now, does your side hurt you? This is an easy question." Ken grimaces but doesn't answer; his fingers press tightly against his bruised ribs and he pants lightly.

"Ken!" Schuldig says sharply, and Ken meets his gaze. "Remember what I said about honesty. Does your side hurt you?" Grudgingly, Ken answers yes.

"I see. What else are you feeling?"

"Anger."

"No. I'd thought we'd settled that. A burst of irritation perhaps, but not anger. You've spent that already. What else?"

"I'm…hungry. And thirsty."

"And?"

"And this is stupid. What do you want out of me?"

"I've already told you how you feel. Now I want YOU to tell me how you feel. I want you to say it and know you're saying it."

"Well forget it."

"Are you attracted to me, Ken?" Ken stops dead in his tracks.

"What?" he chokes, mind whirling.

"You heard me. Are you attracted to me?"

"I uh, uh—what the hell!"

Schuldig smirks. "Its all right if you are, a lot of people are, men and women. Part of what makes my business so smooth. It helps if you're well liked by the customers. So, what's your answer? You see, you're not a very good liar. I didn't bother to have you elaborate on that puny excuse for a story you dragged in just to pick it apart. Not worth my time. This, however, is. Are you attracted to me or not?" His gaze pins Ken.

"I uh…" The brunette searches for anything, _anything_ to get out of this. But there is no answer that will save him— other than the truth. He resigns himself to complete humiliation.

"…yeah," Ken finally admits. He cringes, expecting a derisive snicker, but none comes. Instead, genuine sympathy and near concern show on the older man's face as he looks at him thoughtfully. Ken's brow wrinkles as his other emotions bob to the surface, stirred up by the exposure of something extremely personal.

"Go on," Schu says softly.

Everything comes out in a torrent. "I'm homesick and sad and lonely and tired and mad and scared and hopeful and depressed and curious and my head's buzzing and my side is aching and I think I'm getting a bad headache. I'm confused, I don't know what the hell you want me to do, and frankly, this whole thing is bizarre beyond belief."

Schuldig chuckles. "It probably is," he agrees. His voice takes on a serious tone. "Do you see what I mean about honesty? That was a test. You need to understand that all information, even of personal preferences and feelings, needs to be divulged in certain circumstances. The reasons vary. You must comply with that, do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. I'll tell the truth." Ken stammers, and curses himself for acting like a twittering idiot in front of this man. He should not agree so readily, dammit! It's all he can do not to have his knees buckle. He feels raw and exhausted.

Schu releases one of Ken's shoulders and places one long fingered hand under the little brunette's chin, tipping it up to examine his face with unexpected gentleness. Ken's breath has become suddenly short. Schu tilts Ken's face slowly to the left and the right, perusing the features, complexion, hair and eye color. "Good," he murmurs. "You'll do nicely." Abruptly, Schuldig shoves Ken away. His eyes darken.

"Never," he grates. "Let someone get as close to you as I just have Ken. Not in my service. That includes me. Got it?" His hawk eyes pierce Ken.

"Yes." Ken says softly, confusion clouding his features.

"Yes, _sir!_" Schu barks.

"Yes, sir!" Ken repeats, louder. The tenseness in Schu's frame relaxes visibly.

"Good. Go out that door and down the hall. You'll find Mrs. Holken, and she'll find some breakfast for you. I'll call you later in the day and we'll discuss your work situation, pay rate, etc."

"But—I—"

"You are dismissed, Ken." There's a steely edge to Schuldig's voice that tells Ken to leave, even though the redhead is already absorbed back into his paperwork.

"Oh—kay," Ken breathes. He turns to leave.

"Oh and Ken," the pleasant voice drifts over, belying the threatening strength beneath. "Don't even think about trying to leave before your three months are up. If I have to, I will chase you down to the last fiery furnace of hell. And when I get you, you'd have rather stayed."

He winks. "Enjoy your breakfast."

Ken gulps, and moves gratefully to the door. As soon as he's closed it behind him, he curses. No explanation on his job, where he is, or even who Schuldig was. If that was even his name. He didn't even get to yell about the goddamned drugged water.

"You needed rest and you know it. The water just made it easier. And you asked about poison, not sleep-inducers. Be specific next time." Ken hears Schu's voice coming from the communication box mounted on the wall just next to the heavy office door. It clicks off. Ken curses again. And then because he's got nothing else to do, goes in search of breakfast.

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Oooh, scary Schu! Intimidating poor Ken. But is there more than meets the eye? Let me know what you think! Thanks! --Lady Kickass 


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